


Passing the Mantle

by autumnyte



Category: Dragon Age
Genre: Canon LGBTQ Character, M/M, Post-Endgame, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-21
Updated: 2012-03-21
Packaged: 2017-11-02 08:37:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 918
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/367060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/autumnyte/pseuds/autumnyte
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is a little something I wrote in reaction to the <a href="http://social.bioware.com/forum/1/topic/260/index/10245444">official news</a> that there will be no more Dragon Age: 2.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Passing the Mantle

Fenris leaned back on the barstool and gazed across the rickety oak table at Garrett. A comfortable silence passed between them, Fenris watching as Garrett took a long, slow draught of ale, then wiped the foam from his graying beard with the back of his hand. 

Relaxing at this tavern with two pints and each other’s company had become a weekly tradition. It was a pleasant ritual, but Fenris knew better than to become too attached. Although they had had been on the run for over a decade and the political landscape of Thedas had changed vastly, the fact remained that they were still fugitives. Staying in one place for too long would be unwise.

Their current tenancy of six months—a small farm many miles outside Cumberland, on the edge of the Planasene Forest—was the longest they’d stayed anywhere in years. It was also the closest they’d been to Kirkwall since fleeing the city. The proximity troubled Fenris, but Garrett repeatedly assured him that it was of little concern, that Varric had made their disappearance sound sufficiently mysterious, and that they had likely been all but forgotten.

Fenris highly doubted that. But here, in the quiet familiarity of this tavern, over a mug of ale reminiscent of the swill Corff used to serve at the Hanged Man, it was tempting to persuade himself that perhaps the two of them could make a more permanent home.  As he sipped, he caught Garrett’s eye and was rewarded with a warm smile, the sort that usually preceded a joke.

“You know, I was just remembering the time—” Garrett began, but his sentence was cut short by a commotion at the bar. 

“I can’t believe it,” the barkeep said, loudly and enthusiastically. “The actual Champion of Kirkwall, here, in my tavern!” 

Panic gripped Fenris’s throat and Garrett whipped his head around. But as it turned out, not a soul was looking in their direction. The handful of tavern patrons were gathered around an unfamiliar woman at the bar. By all appearances, she was a tall and muscular warrior with an impressive longsword strapped to her back. After craning his neck to observe her further, Fenris noted that her flashy armor bore the seal of Kirkwall.

“Thank you, serrah,” the woman said, a hint of pride in her tone. “I must confess, I’m rather surprised to be recognized as the Champion outside the Free Marches.” 

The barkeep hastily filled a glass and slid it across the bar to her. “On the house,” he said. “My daughter has an etching of you. We picked it up from a trinketsmonger when we passed through Kirkwall last Summerday. She sleeps with the thing under her pillow, reckons maybe she can be Champion of Cumberland one day. I’d recognize that armor anywhere.” 

“Champion of Kirkwall, is it?” One of the other patrons said, taking a stool beside the woman. “Perhaps you could regale us with some tales.” 

Fenris caught Garrett’s eye once more and tipped his head, gesturing toward the door. Garrett nodded, drained his drink, and plunked two coins on the table before following Fenris out of the tavern. 

Their trek back to the farm was brisk, and Garrett remained uncharacteristically silent the entire way there. It wasn’t until they were back inside their cottage—Garrett cursing as he tried unsuccessfully to kindle a fire in their hearth—that realization dawned on Fenris. The elf leaned against the wall, folding his arms across his chest as he regarded his lover.

“This… actually bothers you,” he said. 

“What do you mean?” Garrett stood and faced Fenris, temporarily abandoning his attempt at a fire. 

“You have been fiddling with that fire for the better part of ten minutes. In fact, you have been behaving strangely ever since we left the tavern.” Fenris took a step closer. “I must conclude that you are troubled by the discovery that Kirkwall has a new Champion.”

“Don’t be absurd,” Garrett answered a bit too quickly, shaking his head. “You know better than anyone how much I despised being ‘Champion’, how glad I was to finally be rid of that bloody title—which, incidentally, I never asked for.”

“I know.” Fenris closed the distance between them, reaching out and touching Garrett’s forearm. “Yet… you are clearly bothered by something.” 

Garrett ran a hand along his slightly-receding hairline and flashed an unconvincing smile. “Well, she  _did_  have much better hair than me. That was quite a blow.” 

Fenris chuckled, but his intense gaze did not falter. “ _Garrett_ , “he said, insistently, after a pause. 

Garrett sighed and stepped back. “I suppose… the encounter just made me realize how long it’s been. It seems Kirkwall has moved on, while I’ve spent the past decade living as a ghost. I… wonder if Bethany can still recall my face, when she closes her eyes.  I wonder if any of them can.  _Maker_.” His voice cracked and he rubbed his temples. “For so many years, the focus has been on making myself disappear. I wanted to be forgotten—I needed to be forgotten. But now….” 

“But now?”  Fenris prompted, following a long moment of silence.

“I… want to be remembered. At least, by the people who matter most to me.” 

Fenris gave him an affectionate smile. He could offer only the truth. “You must take my word on this, as someone who spent years trying...” He cupped Garrett’s face between his hands, gently running a thumb along that ever-present beard. “You are completely, utterly, impossible to forget.”


End file.
